


A Kiss is Just a Kiss

by esaerus (stormilys)



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: 25 Kisses, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:05:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 11,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormilys/pseuds/esaerus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25 kisses prompt from Tumblr; Star-crossed Lovers—She tells him she loves him, and he wants to hate himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Madrugada, "good morning kiss"

> [the moment at dawn when the night greets the day](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

They wake up with differences in time. Always, he wakes just when the night was just giving path for dawn. Always, she wakes up just when dawn has risen, and he knew she always finds her side empty and devoid of his presence. He doesn't stay for long and neither does he sleep in, even when the day ahead of them would be for a fact uneventful and utterly boring and when he would rather stay in bed with her.

_Duty first_ , he'd think, when he sacrifices a few minutes trying to get her to pry off her arms around his waist in her sleep. _What time is it?_ , he'd remember, when he succeeds at disengaging her arms and takes a look at the grandfather clock near her vanity.  _"Asseylum"_ , he'd whisper, when he turns to look at her slumbering form, clutching his pillow and the blankets to herself to compensate for the lost warmth. Guilt. This is what he sees every time before he leaves to prepare for the day ahead.

Then, he'd hesitate. He still does.

He hesitates, but then he leans in to plant a kiss on the corner of her mouth anyway, murmuring a _"Good morning, "_ before he leaves her. Later on day break will rise and she'd wake up with her bedside empty and the sun shining, but he always leaves an evidence of his presence with the warmth of a blush on her cheeks, the lingering scent on the pillow and the sheets that remained long enough for her consider it a dream that his lips had kissed her skin.

She still always, always blushes when she comes to stand beside him later on, a hand against the corner of her mouth.


	2. Inamorata, "forehead kiss"

> [the woman that I love](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

The arms around her hips are snug and there is little to no space between them at all. She especially likes that one fact, continually pulling him against her while they sway and step until they're pressed flush together. Her feet are bare while she stood on his boots, but doing so doesn't serve her already shorter height well.

Slaine is taller than her now. With heels, the top of her head barely grazed his chin. Barefoot she only came up to his collarbone, but she doesn't mind because this way, she'd have no problem about placing the side of her head against his chest where his heart lay. There is no music, but she pretends there is just for the sake of frivolity as they sway noncommittally. _Just like how I like this night_ , she'd think, while her fingers idly caress the ring on her left hand around his back. She hears him intake a slight breath. And she waits. And waits. And got annoyed.

_Why does he still always hesitate?_

She pouts up at him, and Slaine could only offer her a bashfully small grin, and her heart melted, anyway. Finally he cups the side of her face, and his lips press unto her forehead, gently and tenderly. Quick, but somehow he has his ways to make it linger, because her cheeks are tingling red and her heartbeat has kicked up a notch.

Then he says something, the word foreign and strange to her ears, in a whisper. Her ring has that word engraved. She asks what it means. He only presses another kiss on her head with red cheeks and she pouts again, dissatisfied with the answer. 

 _Fine._  No matter if he doesn't tell her now. She'd find out one way or another.


	3. behind closed doors, "sloppy kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I don't quite think that this is how sloppy should be. And I'm blushing.~~

> [everybody’s saying you’re no good for me](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

Behind closed doors she's clumsy with her hands and he's clumsy with his mouth and there's teeth and moans and accidental bites on her lip and his tongue with no time for apologies with every frantic breath and touch. Her hands are on his shirt and his hands are groping her arms down to her shoulders, prodding her face as her mouth surged against his and she liked it when he tugged on her hair just the slightest bit, tipping her head back against the stone cold wall that was remedy for her heated skin.

Behind closed doors the gloves come off and she struggles to get her wrists out of his hold against the wall and it was _fun_ to writhe and squirm beneath him because she realized that there was a sick pleasure that she got in liking this—this roughness and raw heat and _gasp_ he is actually touching her the way she wants him to!

Behind closed doors she didn't have to hide and hold back and he didn't need to stand so stiff and be formal about _every damn thing_  as her body curved right against him and his touch burned trails and prints on her exposed shoulders and all around her waist that she wished she wore the sleeveless one today. His hands dive underneath her (the same time he bites her bottom lip and she giggles because she knew he didn't mean to and his cheeks burn) and she is yanked further up against the surface, fingers on her hips and they dance along the hem of her shift under her bosom. She claws on his shoulders and curls her tongue around his to make up for his earlier transgression.

Behind closed doors, the line between what's right and what's wrong does not exist.


	4. to go down the stairs, "awkward kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~I'm still blushing. Went past 300 words, fail. But who cares, right? AND THIS IS NOT HOW AWKWARD SHOULD BE I KNOW, I'M SORRY THE THIRST IS REAL.~~

> [an opportunity tomaintain face](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

He pulls her closer the same time she pushes herself flush, angling her head and a pleased whine coming from her throat when he gnawed on her bottom lip, catching the plump flesh between his teeth. Slowly, he dragged himself down from his seat and she hiked herself up higher in his lap, struggling with the length of her skirt, but it wasn't about the length, he realized, but the _right angle_.

She was moving so much that when he tugged on the fabric and through the slit that exposed her leg and his palm dove underneath the folds of her skirt to caress the skin a moan caught itself in her throat, sounding broken and certainly, _definitely_ pleased. Though he didn't want it to, it did wonders to his humble ego because it was _he_ who was doing _this_ to _her_ when it was normally the other way around.

His palm was on its happy trail from her knee to her thigh when her nails scraped his scalp to the sensitive skin of his nape, and he felt a shudder wrack its way down his spine. Her tongue dove into his mouth as eagerly, searching and feeling all around and he allowed her to memorize every nook and cranny before he met her, fighting for his autonomy over the situation. He could feel the harsh pounding of her heartbeat in tune with his as her chest continued rubbing against him, with his teeth on her lips as her head dipped, curtaining them both in the golden waterfall that was her hair in some semblance of privacy.

At this rate, honestly, he doesn't know if they should still even wear white on their wedding day because it was so damn  _easy_ to just—

"Pardon my untimely intrusion, Princess Asseylum and Sir Troyard, but, while I do understand that you are both in a much publicized engagement…I _hardly_ think that this is quite the right place to do these kinds of things."

Both of them froze, and Slaine ripped himself away from her as best as he could, hands flying off of her and his heart racing. While his fiancée looked much displeased and disgruntled, not even letting him go,—and _not_ at all ashamed, he knew—Slaine felt as if he had been impaled by hundreds of knives on the gut that were coated with the poison of embarrassment and mortification. They crawled up his system in the form of a scarlet blush and a loss for words.

Count Saazbaum stood there at the doors with a highly amused smirk with a very suggestive gleam to his eye.

"Can't wait for the wedding night, Highness?" He teased, but the older man's face was tinged with a slight pink, still showing some semblance of off-guarded surprise while Slaine sputtered helplessly, and Asseylum was huffing indignantly. "You might want to get off of Slaine right now, Princess. Company is arriving soon. I don't think they will take kindly to this kind of thing like I did."

He was given only one glare from said princess and he was chuckling nervously.

"Or maybe I'd give you a few more minutes." Saazbaum amended, turning back while Slaine tried to tell him  _no, you can't, we can continue the meeting!_ but he was out the door before he actually could. Alone once again, he could not help but glare at the too-innocent stare of hers when she spoke up with her eyes sparkling with triumph and mischief.

"Where were we?"

_"Asseylum."_


	5. passive-aggressive, "angry kiss"

> [settled and deliberate, hasty and sudden](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

He rarely ever got angry. Even at her. Except if he was angry, he'd never be conspicuous about it. He'd give her the silent treatment, and mostly he avoids being in the same room as her, evading her eyes and keeping his head turned. He'd gnaw on his lip harder than usual and he did things more pushily and obsessively. If she tried talking to him, his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and he'd listen to her words but  _not really_ listen, as if he heard a word that she said but _refused to understand_. It's frustrating, because she'd take harsh words and roughness over this kind of thing because anger is supposed to be _angry_ and red, not calm and seeming _nonexistent_ when in reality it was just bubbling along the surface and she was clueless on what kind of chemical to add to make a reaction.

She was the aggressive one when angry; manic and unpredictable in her fury, but her anger was simple and it was  _real_  anger. She'd never hurt the people or the things around her, physically, but she says some harsh things sometimes. Of course she doesn't mean them, but it still _hurts_ people. She's sudden and explosive and she doesn't like it, and she's trying to control it because it's not a good thing. Her fingers always hurt too much because she'd squeeze them together so tightly and with no regard, because it distracts her from the bloom of acrimony. She'd be distracted all day long and she always, always snapped at all the small things.

Though, even with that, it was always her who came to patch things between them, whether it was her fault or his. She's learned that waiting for him to say sorry is like waiting for the seemingly eternal feud between Vers and Earth to finally die down.

And by patching things up, she meant dragging him somewhere so she could make things easier without him slinking away like the coward he is because, really, what good will his pusillanimity do? By running away, he'd be just prolonging the cold argument she didn't have the patience to participate in. Of course, he'd try to escape and avoid her eyes and mutter half-baked excuses, but it usually ends with his back against the wall and her mouth on his while saying _Shut up, you fool_ before she pushes him to reciprocate.

What's so fulfilling about doing it is he doesn't treat her like she's made of glass and he returns her fervor with his own of equal intensity until she was mush and _she_ was the one pinned against the wall and everything felt somehow okay again, even though it wasn't and when she has to push a palm against his seeking mouth to place a bit of distance so she could speak even though she just needed him to take her then and there, she'd say, "I'm sorry."

So of course, he stops, and he just looks at her for awhile. A semblance of guilt and a half-smile, half-wince before he sighs.

"I'm sorry, too," he'd say, and everything would be okay again. Not everything is rainbows and sunshine, especially in their case, but if there was one thing she knew, it didn't have to be perfect. This was enough. It was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Not quite satisfied with this one. I didn't have any ideas how to do an "angry kiss", so, I settled for this one. Also, Happy 4th of July! It's also my birthday, jsyk.~~


	6. kintsukuroi, "i'm sorry kiss"

> [to repair with gold](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

She comes to him swathed in the color of death and mourning. The cemetery is a dreadful place, and if a few had come to pay respects earlier in the day, now it was just empty and desolate—save for Slaine. It's been an hour and he's remained standing there, motionless. She hoped, not emotionless, as she stepped forward beside him. She winds an arm around his and tangles a hand through his own, trying to provide some semblance of comfort, and his fingers, gingerly but with pressure, squeezed hers back.

"Black is unbecoming on you." He murmurs, weak and morose with his eyes glued to the epitaph. She spares it one look, and then gives back her attention to him, if he even noticed.

"And to you, likewise." She gives back. He squeezes again. She allows him. His shoulders quiver. She wrings her free hand and takes his head into her arms, and his face digs into the space between her shoulder and neck, and his fingers plunge into her hair and encompass her back, anchoring onto her shoulder as he trembled. A moment's hesitation; she ends up laying a kiss on his cheek, not knowing what to do nor what to say to make him feel even remotely better.

"Aren't you numb from standing?" She asks in a whisper, right against his ear.

"I don't feel anything." She shuts her mouth. His hold tightens and she feels her breath leave her. "I can't feel anything."

Then, her neck is wet with tears. He is silent when he cries. No sniffling, no screaming, no words. Just the arms around her, and the quivers of his form. She hopes, anyway, as she tightens her embrace and kissed his cheeks, that she could help. If only he could let her in.


	7. For Another Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, "i've missed you kiss"

> [i'll wait [forever and ever]](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

He'd been away for a year and six months, three weeks and four days, for seven hours and thirty-three minutes and forty-eight seconds. She kept track, because counting the days was better than doing nothing, because doing nothing meant she had finally accepted that she can live without Slaine by her side.

It's an agony to wait. To hope and to have herself wake up the next day, hopeful and hoping that he's returned, and maybe he was just right around the corner waiting for her so she'd get the surprise of her life. She waits, and waits and waits because it's the only thing she could do. It's agony because she didn't know if he'll ever return at all. She keeps his side of the bed unoccupied and neat, doesn't touch his clothes in the wardrobe nor probe around his things. She expected that in the event that she did, she'd lose something important; a memory, a smile, Slaine, perhaps? It's enough to keep her on her toes, the last memory she has of him with his lips on her hair before he turned his back to her and left her in a lonely castle in lonely company.

If he ever returned, she was going to make sure she'd never see his back turned to her, and she will hold his hand, and be by his side, for every step of the way. In fact, she could live without ever seeing him again—him, on a place where she'll never reach as long as she breathed, but she can't live with waiting, uncertain and clenched within the icy grasp of fear and longing with each day that pass.

She didn't like waiting, but if it meant that she'll still see him again, she'd wait for another eleven, twelve and even thirteen, days and months and years, and maybe even forever.

And so, when one day when the air felt different—and so, when one day her heart suddenly just started pounding uncontrollably when she woke up—and so, when she opened her door that day and ran to their special room because her heart was screaming and the hope was so strong that it _hurt_ —she got there, and Slaine wasn't there. She had neared another breakdown, surrendering to the long-kept wretchedness and just as the dam broke, the floor she stood on ceased to exist under her feet as she was swept up and away from behind. Her breath left her and she knew these arms and there was something so achingly  _familiar_ and _home was here_.

Slaine.

He was saying things when he put her down; things she didn't bother to understand nor hear out and his hair was longer and there was a change she can't see yet realized what and her knees growing steadily weaker as she committed every bit of detail she saw on him and he stopped talking when she touched him. Feeling. Accepting. A respite. _Are you really home?_

When he smiles that smile, the smile that was everything Slaine with one dimple on his cheek and his cheeks coloring, she decided she really didn't need an answer.

So she said _Welcome home_ and she choked on her tears and laughter when he panicked and tried to ease her sobs. Home is here. Home is Slaine. She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her tear-stained lips to his.


	8. Enrapture, "seductive kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~nsfw-ish. change rating?~~

> [a pleasure so great it borders on the divine](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

The doors open. He closes his eyes and envisions what his visage could have been, if he was facing that side of the room and thoroughly caught on the walking embodiment of magnificence itself. She'd emerge from her bathing chambers with nothing but his stolen shirt a size too big, looking every bit of a woman with a purpose with her confident strides and uncanny ease. No shifting, no insecurity. Steps are delicate yet solid. Unfaltering. He almost wished he could have just turned to look.

There's a weight on the other side of the bed. Getting closer. Closer. A whiff of her soap and her fragrant shampoo. Cool arms slide from his shoulders and around his neck and he breathes a sharp inhale at the pressure of her chest against his back. It's not because of her breasts pressed up against him; that was the minor thing. The major thing was, she has come in contact with the scars he was most sensitive to, still.

He didn't like showing her his scars. All around his chest, reaching towards his nape to the dips and sides of his back. Everywhere. Hardened skin and sensitive. But she conveyed she didn't mind. Touched every one and kissed every one until there were tears in his eyes and affection for her, growing stronger and stronger. She recognized his faults. She knew his hardships. Despite everything she accepted him. That meant the _world_.

He almost turned to her before her head pushed forward first, her lips, pressing against the back of his ear and he paused. No words. His heart was pounding and he was certain she could feel it with her hands splayed right over his heart. He feels her knees graze his hips, and her mouth comes lower to the side of his jaw and he swallows, but he didn't want it like this.

"Come here," he clamored softly, pulling at her wrists to get her before him. "I want to see you."

Wispy strands of her golden hair tickle his arms and face when she does. She fits easily against him; petite and lean. Though her hands are not soft, and could flip a man in the air if she wanted to, her hands are the only hands he wanted to hold. He didn't care if they were calloused as his was rugged as well. At least, that was something they were equal in. She settles in his lap and in his arms. She looks at him with nothing but pure, unadulterated ardor as if he was the only thing that she sees and she was the world, and she was wonderful and she was his. She was beautiful and she was the daylight.

The world kisses his eyes close and her hands move from his shoulders to his face, and he sinks to his elbows when her lips brush the bow of his mouth. Her teasing is subtle, yet it was effective. She avoids kissing his lips, moving so it pressed against the corner of his mouth instead while her fingers play with the hair at the back of his head. She falls further until she was straddling him with her firm thighs and the skin she shows leaves nothing to the imagination. But the further she leaned forward, the more her shoulders slipped out from his shirt. The more skin she exposes, the more confident she got. The more confident she was, the more daring she gets. The more daring she was, the more she could get him to fall apart at the seams.

She gets lower, lower, and her lips land on the scars over his heart. In that moment, she had successfully seduced his heart with her compassion and reverent kindness. She accentuates her gentleness with every careful kiss, every loving stroke of her fingers. He lets her heal him, and he crumbles under her silken hair and surrenders his whole being, dedicated and devoted to her and only her.

He catches skin and touches her; she makes beautiful sounds of her appreciation, arching herself to him until he couldn't take it no more and he is raising the meager piece of garment she had donned her self with, up and up and unearthing skin that never sees the light of day, exposed and bare under his gaze. But she does not hide herself; confidence and ease radiating from her in waves and he is instantly caught. His breath still stutters as he takes her in.

And when he hesitates, she never fails to smile teasingly, raising two fingers and beckoning him _Come closer_ and the words _I'm yours_ an unspoken whisper from the calm contentedness of her kiss. There was no need to rush. No need for urgency.

 _I'm yours_.


	9. fiat justitia ruat caelum, "war's end kiss"

> [let justice be done, though the heavens fall](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

"…and so, with this blessing, you may now kiss the bride." The pastor says, and kiss her Slaine did, but not quite like what the whole nobility and she expected.

He gets down on one knee, because he's never had the chance to do so on a normal proposal's standards. Her eyes widen through her veil and the guests murmur their confusion. _What is he doing?_ , they ask one another.

He holds her hand and stares at the brilliant ring he'd placed on her just moments ago. She stares and he looks up at her and thinks, breathless, _My god, that's beauty right there_. A beauty he knows he doesn't deserve. In fact, every bit of this event, he doesn't deserve either. He is not worthy to lift her veil, kiss her lips. The only ever acceptable thing he can do is get down on one knee as if swearing fealty like he's done so many times and look up at the world—her. 

He kisses her ring, and knows she doesn't deserve to be tied to him like this. Not when her heart doesn't belong to him. He has plans, big ones, and she exists alongside those plans, but he knows she will never accept those because it's not the kind she wanted; preferred. _Where is the peace among this violence, Slaine? The lies packed on top of another lie?_

Her eyes water as he did so, but she surprises him when she glares defiantly down at him and her hands reach to clench his lapels—yanking him up.

"Get up, you." So far, even with his height advantage she still manages to intimidate him, and he is daunted and blindly anticipating what she plans to do. The crowd gasps, surely surprised by her audacity, but she pays them no mind. He doesn't, either, entirely focused on the entity that is made of her.

Her eyes roll and a few tears escape as she did. "You are so dramatic."

His mouth opens in surprise. "Prin—"

No. She wasn't _Princess_ anymore.

With one hand, she unveils herself, and with the other, she pulled him down and sealed their marriage with the kiss he denied himself from. Cheers and applause grace his ears, and he barely registers the fact that she had moved closer to him that their chests touch and her arms weave around his neck.

"To the bride and groom," the pastor booms, and the cheers get louder, "To the Emperor and Empress of the Vers Empire!"

They hail praises and chant their names as soon as their lips part, and he thinks he sees adoration in her eyes when she opens them to look up at him. It was still there when she ducks her head and looks away elsewhere, her cheeks reddening but her hands remaining on his shoulders, before they eventually settle in the loose cradle of his.

And for the meanwhile, he thinks it's enough.


	10. swan song, "goodbye kiss"

> [a final gesture or a farewell](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

He tells her he is leaving when he is 19 and she is only a day away from 18. He tells her he is leaving after she worked up the courage to stand her ground and profess her long-repressed affection, heart pounding and cheeks blotched red. He tells her he is leaving one day before she is of legal age, one day before she could proclaim that she has chosen him as her betroth from the years of bearing with the churning yearning.

 _I leave for the war tonight_ , he said. With an unspoken apology, with the weight of his emotions heavy in her hands.

But they're not quite together. They're not quite not together either.

Then, poignant silence. A minute. Two. He was worrying his lip. She was pointedly staring at the tips of his boots, which were steadily coming closer. Before she knows it, he had her in his arms and they are mismatched pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. And the princess wonders if she should cry, or if she should pull away. The embrace is tight and uncomfortable, and her nose is afflicted with the scent of his newest uniform, gray and ascetic.

People say they’ve always been quite the odd couple; the Versian Princess and the Terran Knight, Vers-blood by oath. One is always in the presence of the other, inseparable. It is an unspoken matter between the two of them but not to the people around them. Whispering, hushed tones. Thinking they couldn't hear. Lowered eyes. _Just what is that Terran filth to the Highness Asseylum?_

The embrace leaves her incomplete. He retreats far too soon and her fingers catch his sleeve, “Don't go,” leaving her lips. She knows it is not enough. He could love her with all he has but it's not enough to make him stay. His duty always came a close second to his feelings, and nothing could take it away from him if it meant he could have the assurance that she is going to be safe. She both loves and hates that part of himself. Loves because he is thinking of her first. Hates because he is not thinking of himself first.

So the princess says nothing else as her hand slips away. And does nothing when he runs fingers through her hair for what seemed like the last time, the comfort and the warmth gone as he lifts the golden strands to his lips. Sometimes she wonders if it is her or her hair that he adores.

But she steels her heart and turns a deaf ear to her breaking heart as she pulls away. "Go," she said, strongly.  _Come back home._ It's not as strong as a whisper when he turns his back to her, his strides with strength and without falter.

This is not the war he would return from.


	11. rauxa, "i almost lost you kiss"

> [and something akin to relief](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

Somehow, over in time, she's developed a habit of getting herself involved in things that would result to him getting cardiac arrest one way or another for the sheer danger of the things she kept doing just to ruffle his feathers. She was not at all concerned for herself; he cared too much to let her be. He didn't trust the others to keep up with her, that's why, every time she thinks it is the time to walk along the edges of a balcony balustrade one-hundred and seventy-three floors up from the ground, he's relieved the gloves give him a proper grip on her hand.

Things like that were still considered mild in his book, having seen her do things much more extreme.

Then, one time, she requested to fly, while they walk along the coastlines of a place whose name he didn't remember.

She didn't know a _speck_ of how to use manually-operated transport machines.

And she had, again, for the umpteenth time, tricked him into thinking that she had memorized two years worth of his piloting training in a span of fifteen minutes until she was seated inside of a Sky Carrier, and he was foolish enough to stand back and watch and even _more_  so to let her be. His mistake was that he had been confident and blind to the fact that this was the girl who pursued danger purely for the hell of it.

His confidence came crashing like the way the carrier suddenly sputtered and lost altitude, halfway through her flight across the ocean until it landed with a great splash, screeching and in splinters from the impact and the way his stomach caved as he realized that she was still inside and _holy shit she was still inside_ she's going to drown holy shit holy _shit_ —

He was halfway through the process of stupidly drowning himself by trying to reach the sinking aircraft when he hears her; up above.

"Slaine!" she calls, and he sputters against the saltwater as he raises his head in frantic fear, afraid that he was seeing things out of dread and despair. There she was; braced in her seat as the parachute lowered towards the beach.  _There she was._ He runs to her with his heart pounding and the relief making him feel faint.  _Goddamn it,_ still, he couldn't help but think as the seat thumped against the sand and she had dislodged herself with a hearty laugh, driven by adrenaline and joy. Joy he can't quite appreciate for it brought him grief.

"Assey—" he choked, pale, irritated and most of all _relieved_. His sigh was stuttering as his blood thrummed with his knees weak and quivering and his stomach was still churning at the thought of her, inside that carrier, trapped and drowning. Dying. _Dying_ , the absence of life. _The absence of her_. He couldn't see a world without her. He couldn't. "You..."

"I'd say," she grinned, spinning around to face him. "That was my best one yet. Am I right?" She had the audacity to laugh. This girl was going to be the death of him.

He neared her with quivering hands and weakening knees. Feel her. Touch her. She's alive. He reminds himself. Keeps reminding himself. Alive. Existing. Living, the absence of death. The presence of her. The first touch was her shoulders. Down her arms. Wrists. Hands. Cheeks flushed with life. _I'm okay_ , her eyes convey. A mouth set to a smile. He kisses that same mouth and feels her unspoken apology for doing such a thing through the gentle press of her hands against his cheeks. Warm hands.

He did not lose her. She is here, and she is alive in his arms.


	12. Eskimo, "nose kiss"

> [the object of committed affection](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

The most rational thing he could have done during the day of their wedding was probably the time he came to her before it started. Not one of his many wise decisions, but it was the only thing that have kept him from chewing his nails off when his nerves started getting to him. He was ready, though. He wouldn't be here if he weren't. It was just that the thought of  _her_ not being ready was what made him waver. That maybe she'd change her mind, leave in cold feet. Leave him. The thought had always been a perennial fear, engraved at the back of his mind.

So he went to her, much to her surprise and Eddelrittuo's displeasure. (Because, it was he who told the younger girl that the groom wasn't supposed to see his bride before the actual ceremony; he could tell it was what she had been waiting for, but now, sadly it wasn't the case anymore.) And maybe his breath hitched when he saw her, and maybe his eyes pricked with tears as she gave him the vision of a life together in her virginal white wedding dress. And maybe seeing her was enough, but maybe it wasn't, because it did little to quench his missing security. She dismissed Eddelrittuo, and he let her do so. And silently, he wondered if this decision was the worst one; what if she tells him that she wasn't ready, face to face? Seeing her felt like a slap to the face, but the thought left him breathless like he had been kneed in the gut. He wasn't ready for her rejection.

But she didn't ask him why he was there. No mockery in her gaze as she came closer to him. The veil wasn't set yet, giving him a clear view of her face, and he knew then why she wasn't asking or saying anything because he knew that she  _knew_ and it's the reason why his guard drops when her hands cup his cheeks, and his forehead is against hers and no words are needed as his eyes close, and he simply felt. A small smile tugged at his lips when their noses brush meaningfully.

If he wanted to, he could have been the one that got away, yet she has made her choice and he made his, and they were going to tie loose ends with this marriage. 

Together.


	13. Surreptitious, "ear kiss"

 

> [a whisper [to the world] and a shout [to the void]](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

In the eighth month of their first year in marriage, they are both already weary and beaten down from the war that seemed eternal. Childless, for they wanted a child not raised in the skeletons of violence but by peace. In their bedroom as night fell he lay cradled in her arms thinking about her, and as she runs fingers through his hair he can tell she is thinking the same; him.

Then; _Slaine, I'm content._

He asks her: _You are?_  

She nods. _Right now, there're a lot of things that I should not—we cannot be happy about, but right now, with you, in this moment, and your name being mine…it's enough, somehow. Even if it were only momentary, even if tomorrow when the sun rises and there are more problems to face than the ones we have today, even if I never get to feel it again, right now…it's enough. I'm happy at this moment, and I'm happier that I get to share it with you._

He smiles when she scrambles up and tugs him out into the terrace, slamming the balcony doors open in her haste. She runs ahead and she throws her arms around, spinning to face the stars and he watches her, her smile infectious.  _I'm happy!_ She screams, loud and exuberant and lovely and her. _The stars, the moon, the Earth and Vers, and everything else that is present here are witness!_

He approaches her and dares to bring her closer to himself. Throws away his doubts and his worries. Casts away his reluctance and whispers in her ear so softly it could have been a kiss. Her, in his arms, and it was everything he could ask for. _I'm happy, and you are the witness._


	14. Collum, "neck kiss"

> [two for the show](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

A lot of things get under his skin more than he would dare to admit. She has the most pleasure in exploiting these things whenever they find themselves alone. A prime example was leaving clutter in his general vicinity; a stray piece of clothing lying around—

Her favorite, however, was to steal his last uniform jacket for herself while his other ones were down for washing. That one was one sure way to make a tiny flare of exasperation glitter his eyes. Sea-foam eyes tiding into glass while he stares her down, standing five foot seven in a white undershirt that exposed his neck; his collarbones.

She loved burying her nose into the inside folds of his collar while watching him contemplate just what he would do to make her take off the jacket—while also on the process of  _how not_ to see her without anything else underneath. She  _liked_ his appreciation; she  _liked_ the way his stare would linger. In general, she  _liked_ his attention. How he only had eyes for her. _  
_

So, she rewards him. As she slides off the jacket with a glittering grin, she concluded that she also liked the direction that his eyes take as they follow her movements before she swings the jacket over his shoulders, inadvertently pulling him close. His hands are heavy on the mattress and his cheeks are flushed. Slaine makes a tiny hitch of breath when she nips tender skin.

"That...that's going to show." He complains, beet red when he pulls away, a palm pressed against his flushing neck.

"So you better make sure you don't move much, then." She laughs, suggestively rolling her shoulders and watching him blush.


	15. forget your scars, "kiss on the back"

> [we'll forget mine](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

He undressed with his back turned to her, displayed in such a manner of a rigidness and discomfort that guilt weighed heavy into her stomach that maybe she had pressed too hard.

( _"Show me,"_ she said.)

Instead, here he is and here are the scars that lacerated his skin. She cannot help the wince; the horror of what pain he had gone though, not as painful as for the fact that she knew, they were because _of_ her and _for_ her. She wishes she could get angry, at him or at the world, but she cannot; scarred bullet holes on her neck and on her shoulder, they would only remind her of how much of a hypocrite she would be.

Tentatively, Asseylum crawls to where he sat, so very far from her, hunched and looking so little.

It is that this moment, she realizes, he is at his most vulnerable; exposed more than ever and he's letting her in to let her see. It doesn't hurt anymore when he flinches away from her touch, not for the first time, but this time he tries not to. _Tries_.

There's so very little she could do for him and she knows _almost_ is not enough, she thinks as she kisses a scar on his shoulder, to his spine, every guilt in every kiss she lays on his back at the memory of a gun, of a princess who knew nothing and everything and a boy in a red coat. She also thinks, now, how this is of how much he still trusts her, willingly displaying her his back even after she had him on gunpoint, the barrel level with his eyes.

It's much more damaging to dole out justice on a back that is stabbed, after all.


	16. Clandestine, "French kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cri.

> [in holes and corners](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

It happens because he's too much of a blockhead and she's sneaky.

It's much too difficult to fight her off when her hands were raking through his hair, or that her hips were pushing knowingly against his hips and her silken white slip was inching higher and higher with every contour of her body against his. Languidly, her tongue traces the quivering seam of his lips, nipping on raw skin and the moment his mouth opens she surges forward, dipping in her tongue eagerly.

Weak to the knees, it's entirely logical that he slumps against the object behind him; the vanity clattered messily as he slid onto the seat and her combs and pins tumbled off, not that she cared. His hands were anxious at the thought of touching her as her tongue was messily playing with his mouth and he was trying to reciprocate against the straightforwardness of her gentle caresses. His hands were hovering above the swell of her hips; she was practically all over him and it was so unfair on many ways. So damn unfair.

 _You are forbidden to touch Her Highness until you're bound by marriage, Terran_ is the promise he's trying to keep, but she makes it so hard and she's doing it on purpose and she knows he's weak when he's against her. Slaine is grieving at the threat and the disastrous desire to _touch._

Asseylum abandons his hair, his sensitized scalp, only to wrap her arms around him in an affectionate embrace. He would have been able to handle that much, if not for her legs that decided to straddle him. His gasp paved way for her to explore further, and his already flustered cheeks bloomed a redder shade when he's unable to suppress the groan when her tongue coiled around him. Rubbing, coaxing him to dance. He responds to her as best as he could but he wants to _touch_ her...! She tilts his head back, a hum on her throat— _she_  was definitely enjoying this—and he knows he's lost when she sucks his tongue into her mouth.

Her startled moan when he seizes her hips to pulls her deeper into himself goes not unnoticed, and he shows how deep and defenseless he was against her allure, slanting his head and finally fighting back. The grin she forms against his mouth melts away from the brush of his tongue, meeting her half-way and attentive to her mouth. It keeps him distracted enough until he feels her hips roll and they break off when his hands grip her in warning.

Red-faced and eyes clouded, she smirks at him and melts against the hands that were going a little too low to settle on her hips. "Touch me, now?" She giggles.


	17. the earthling influence, "shy kiss"

> [called christmas and mistletoes](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

She's staring in that way of hers that usually meant trouble, _more trouble_ , for the both of them. Prodding and intense, an excitement glittering like stardust in depths of greens. Slaine realized now what his first mistake was; letting her know just exactly what Christmas is, why it happens, how it happens, and what happens on it.

"Mistletoe. Santa. Gifts." She repeats. " _Christmas_..." She purses her lips.

"Erm, yes." He shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like this one bit. "Though, considering Vers' beliefs, I don't think it's legal to celebrate it."

"But Slaine, we're not in Vers right now."

They stop walking, and he stares at the rosy brown locks that brushed her shoulders, the jeans she was wearing that he never thought he'd see her in, and the sheer _mundanity_ of how she looks. He's been so used to seeing her with an air of royalty and swathed in elaborate dresses that the concept of seeing her so normal in normal clothes never made sense to him.  _Until now_. 

He thinks he's in-love with her all over again.

He also snuck her out on the eve before Christmas, explaining his reason  _after_ they land on a country whose name he forgot. There was snow, though. Lots of colorful lights and lanterns, snowmen and decorative hollies. Red and green, lots of it. And punishment when they get back.

"I-I'm sorry." He blurted out.

She's bewildered, "What for?"

"I...took you here on an impulse decision, I don't even know where we are and I don't even have a gift to give." Its his turn to purse his lip. "I've also gotten us in trouble for doing so, most of all. I'm sorry. If you want, we can go back now."

The hand he held with his tightened, and when he refused to look at her, she nudged his jaw to get him to look at her. Asseylum— _Seylum_ , rather—shakes her head, and she wraps both arms around him and he can't help it; he melts and he's embracing her back.

"Don't you realize? This is your best gift yet." She mumbles into his neck, sounding happy and content and he didn't know why she should be. "You took me to Earth on an day important to those born on Earth. A day that's important to _you_ , and despite everything, you took _me_ , a Martian girl who never knew what Christmas or Valentines is and, well, basically everything that has to do with Earth, with you to celebrate it with. And for that, no material possession can make me happier than the chance of celebrating Christmas with you." She pulls away, sincerity and gratitude as clear as day. "Thank you, Slaine."

Slaine ducks his head. He's warm all over, his chest overflowing with affection and realization and a bit shame-faced and it's her fault and she's still staring at him with that contented, kind smile.

Happy and Slaine Troyard was a foreign concept but he likes it.

"Slaine? Slaine, is that...?" she tugs on his scarf, her chin directed up and her eyes trained on something above them. He looks up at the abundance of mistletoe growing and hanging above their heads, almost taking over the apple tree. His cheeks bloomed again. She knows what they were, for when he looked back down on her, she's closed her eyes with an expecting purse of her lips at him. It's the kind of sight he wanted to burn into his memory that it feels like a crime when he hesitates, just a bit, before he presses his mouth against hers softly, timidly, kindly. 

It's his first Christmas with her, and he thinks this is also the best gift he's had, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, months of no updates and here I am pouring them all in. Happy Holidays everyone! <3   
> ~~This doesn't feel like a shy kiss though....~~


	18. 104;213, "surprised kiss"

> [the element of surprise](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

"I told you it wasn't a good idea."

"Wash…not?"

" _Wasn't_ , Your Highness."

She giggling and lax in his hold, nuzzling her face into his throat. He sighs heavily, scrunching his nose at the whiff of alcohol lingering on her hair, and at every puff of her breath. He ought to have Eddelrittuo clean her up; there was no way he was going to sleep in the same bed as her at this rate.

"Stars." She suddenly declares, pumping her fists. "I'm…she…seeing uh, stars!"

Slaine chuckled. "Look to your front, and you'll find lots of them." The window provided a front-seat view.

She tilts her head up, at him, eyes cloudy and unfocused though bright. Slaine stares right back at her, raising one of his eyebrows, and her hand comes up to prod that same brow, mouth twisting in such scrutiny that it made her look ridiculous.

"I see _you_ , Slaine!" She grins. For a drunk person, she makes a cute drunk, considering it's her first time getting drunk. Asseylum prods his forehead, pinches his cheek, purses her lips. Prods his face again. "Wait…doesn't make sense. You're not a sitar, Slaine!"

"I'm not a what now?"

Asseylum hikes herself up higher in his arms, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and shoulders. Her cheek bumps against his cheek, and her legs wiggle so much that he groaned and tried to adjust her again just so she wouldn't fall.

"You told me to look front, but you're what I see."

"Front doesn't mean up, darling." He laughs.

Prodding, again. This time the effects of her inebriation takes effect and she misses his cheek; Slaine flinched and gasped as her fingers clumsily poked his eye. She knows because she gasped, too, gaping at her hand and then at him, then back to her hand. They're near their room, Slaine notices, with a breathe of relief.

"Bad shand!" She shouts. "You hurt Slaine!"

"Bad hand," he repeats as he kisses her forehead while she continues to pout at her hand. Then she's giggling and tracing his jaw with her nose until she's snuggling up to him again.

She hugs his neck tightly than ever. "I love you."

"I love you, too." His heart never ceases to skip a beat.

"I love you from here!" And she's tugging him down, and he nearly doubles over in shock when she does, with his neck yanked until she has her mouth pressed against his, clumsy and graceless and he thinks her teeth must have bumped against his lip. Nonetheless, it still stuns him speechless, until she pulls back, with a drowsy-looking smile and contentedness. "…to here."


	19. Liefdesverdriet, "sad kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can be a direct follow-up to chapter 10, which is swan song, "goodbye kiss" or not.  
>  ~~haha.~~

> [love that is gone](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

In the charred remains of her homeland where fire and destruction has yet to reach the part of the castle she stays refuge in, they deliver the mangled Kataphrakt remains they retrieved in the void of space. It's main face is dented and scarred from explosions, an arm and a leg wrecked from AP rounds. The latch is nearly impossible to pry open, crushed beyond repair. It nearly takes three and half hours before they finally extract its pilot.

Dead.

Not that it was surprising, considering the state of affairs, the bloody mess on the consoles, the funny angles of broken limbs.

And they wouldn't have brought such thing back, normally. Bloody hell to that; things had never been normal to the point of _war_ being a normal occurrence. They bring it back because its his unit, and he is the pilot, and he, the pilot, was long dead.

It was without words that they bring her back to him, no matter what state he was in.

The Princess of Vers could hardly even recognize his face, all that blood and cuts and bruises and unmentionable things she could not describe. They laid him on a stretcher, far too gone to revive. She doesn't care; barely looks at his face for no more than three seconds as she searches his uniform, slipping her hands in his pockets and the crevices unfamiliar to her.

Tears do not come to her. She's cried enough in his absence, though she knows it will probably come later, a few weeks, months, years, or, hopefully, maybe never at all.

She finds it in his inner breast pocket, heart side, undamaged but caked with blood, and when she does, it's not without difficulty she turns away, ordering what little people she has left, to put the _body_ with the others. Without its life, it's just the body of the boy whom she swore her love to at the wrong time and he's gone. The body has no significance to her; it holds none of her love for her love was no more.

The empire is crumbling, and it won't be soon before long. Ceasefires are no longer an option, and she's getting inside a Kataphrakt that isn't hers, deaf to her people's voices. She loops the chain around her neck and leaves it to dangle in front of her, before she hesitates, and lifts the cold medallion to her lips, thinking that she's never once had the chance to return his kisses on her hand, on her hair and this is what it call comes to.

And somehow Eddelrittuo's voice penetrates through the cacophony in tears, _Princess! This isn't what he would've wanted!_ she says.

She says _I'm sorry_ even though she knows she wouldn't hear her. _But this isn't what I wanted either._

She merely wanted to be loved at the right time that had never existed.


	20. Princess, "exhausted parents kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to write a family fic asap.

> [empress, emperor, prince, prince](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

It takes hours of blood, sweat and tears, of splitting screams and pallid cries as his hands threatened to lose circulation from her bruising grip. Hours of anxiety, hours of misery and life being delivered. At the end of it there is only silence that stagnates, and the breathing of an exhausted soul while an white bundle is passed to his arms by a twinkle-eyed Eddelrittuo. Slaine stands next to her bedside as she slept, stock-still and still unable to get used to this.

 _How small._ He feels his tears simmering as he holds the infant in his arms, mixing with the light-headed relief and joy and exhaustion he felt. _How fragile_. Slaine is feeling his lips twitch to a smile when his wife rouses groggily, strands of hair stuck to her face, neck, and she's lovely all the same as the lit fireplace gave her an earthly glow.

"Three's my limit." She brings up, voice throaty but content, watching him and the squirming bundle in his arms. "...I'm not sure if you get where I'm coming from, but three's my limit, Slaine."

He thinks back to their sons that fretted themselves to exhaustion, who had paced restlessly behind the chamber doors earlier on, now slumped asleep on the couch behind him, and grins tiredly at her until she smiles back, exhausted lines at the corners of her eyes. Languidly, Asseylum faffs with her blanket, and makes a few attempts at trying to clear her muddled thoughts. 

"Well. You named the last two, so it's my turn." She sniffs, jerking her chin to the two boys on the couch, and Slaine laughs softly, cradling his only daughter more gently.

" _Odelia_ is still better than _Cecania_ , though."

"But how would we nickname _Odelia_?" She pouts. " _Cecania_ is much better because we can call her Cece. It's cute."

"How about we just let _Odelia_  decide what she wants when she's old enough?"

Asseylum opens her mouth, hesitates, then purses back thoughtfully.

"That's a good thought, but I still think that _Cecania_ is better."

They stare at the other, before breaking out in soft laughter as Slaine leaned down to place a weary peck on his empress' lips. And when it's over, she wordlessly accepts the bundle, cooing at the dozing infant with an adoring smile. 

Yes. Slaine would never be used to this at all, his happiness spilling over his hands that it feels all too much, and he didn't mind one bit.


	21. la vie en rose, "jealous kiss"

> [a world where roses bloom](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

Something didn't look right on her expression.

She twirls in his arms, something about it still appearing graceful while she still manages to look a tad displeased. She spins once, and when he pulls her back in, she pushes herself much closer and deadpans right up at him. And at that moment, she chooses to eliminate all space than what is socially accepted and he finds her lips pressed against his own. In the middle of Versian nobility, and he's privy to the amused looks they throw at them, the others looking a scandalous some.

" _Princess!_ " He hears Count Cruhteo's reprimand among the music and the chatter and the ringing in his ears; embarrassment and surprise making him unable to respond properly. 

And, yet, for whatever reason not known to him she refused to let him go, hands trailing away from his palms to clasp around his neck to an even deeper lip lock, head leaning to the right and mouth pursed firmly into his. Into even deeper trouble, for this was not how they were to reveal the state of their relationship per her grandfather's orders. Slaine was sure that the whispers that had began to arise was due to the glimmering on her left hand. 

Shock rolled into stomach somersaults and the butterflies in it, and he has enough consciousness to swathe her waist with both arms as, finally, he pressed back, without knowing just what she was thinking.

A cacophony was beginning to form by the time she pulled back, but she did not look at him; instead her gaze is pinned straight over his shoulder, ringed hand looking as if in a display while it lay against his shoulder. Slaine took a cautious glance just to see what it was all about and—

A girl?

The faint surprise and the recognition in her eyes made him remember as well that she had been the girl who requested a dance from him before he offered his hand to Asseylum. It didn't mean much to him, but was he missing out on something else entirely?

"Princess Asseylum, Slaine." The stern voice interrupted him out of his thoughts as he focused his attention to an exasperated-looking Cruhteo. "I suppose now's a good time to make the announcement, _especially_ after that display." He's sure that the last one is for her, coupled with the narrowing of the older man's eyes while Asseylum barely batted an eye. When Slaine tried to meet her eyes though, she avoided. 

He heaved a sigh. This is going to be a long night.

* * *

Before she could escape to her chambers, he pulled her back and was quick to fasten her to himself; knowing her well enough that she would try to fight him off with the way she'd tensed up, he bound her against him without hurting her, but firm enough not to let her slip away. He felt his mouth twitch to an amused smile at her frustrated raspberry, and leaned against her door with his hands fastened around her wrists.

"What was that about?" he inquired softly, massaging the skin of her arm in a soothing motion.

She still didn't meet his eyes, but red began to pool her cheeks.

"I didn't like it."

"What did you not like?"

She huffed a frustrated breath at him, pursing her lips as she tried to wiggle her arms free. Tried. "You, and that girl. Dancing." His eyebrows rose. "Us, having to delay the official announcement. Waiting for the dumb date when the whole world knows _officially_." She spat the last word, having found enough ire to look at him in the eye that made her greens sparkle with the brilliance of her grievances. "Basically I am here to admit that I was quite vexed with having to hide what we are, and the fact that some people couldn't stay away from you without knowing you're already..."

"...Yours?" He supplied helpfully, already catching on. She tugged weakly on her arms and he let go, allowing her to finally wrap her arms around him as he drew her in as well with his heart skipping beats as he kissed her forehead.

"Seeing that just..." She struggled, squeezing his waist as she tried to pertain to him and the girl. "I don't even know. I'm sorry. I overreacted."

"Shh, it's okay."

"I'm sorry for putting us on the spot like that."

He pried off her face from his shoulder and cupped her face in his hands, caressing her cheeks in soothing circles until she relaxed. And though she still looked mildly troubled, Asseylum looked better than she were before. He decided that's enough.

"To be fair, I'm willing to wager that you're not the least bit regretful for showing me off." He teased, and a faint smirk appeared on her face, confirming his thoughts.

"At least no one would dare ask you the next time."

"Milady," he pulled her flush and grinned against the corner of her mouth while she giggled. "The next time someone asks is only when I give you a daughter, asking me to teach her a dance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write this without writing over 300 words.  
> fak.


	22. collywobbles, "giggly kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka taking the meaning of collywobbles in the most lamest way possible.

> [butterflies in your stomach](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

She saw his lips twitch to a smile when he finished taking his shirt off, his eyes bright and curiously appreciative. Asseylum's brow hitched up, squeezing the sides of his hips with her knees in an inquiring manner, wondering what he found so amusing when all that lay before his eyes was just her.

"Nothing." He says, but his smile was wider, so Asseylum pursed her lips.

"It isn't just nothing when it's making you smile that smile."

"'That' smile?"

She shrugged her shoulders as best as she could, and she knew he followed her movements when she moved to outline the straps of her silken night dress with her fingers in a manner that was beckoning from the way his jaw tightened.

So she answered, with a laugh, "Your lovely smile. The one that makes your eyes light up, the rest of you would just…glow."

"Lovely? Glow…" He laughed, now hovering closely at her. Asseylum's breath hitched when he laid a hand on her stomach, inching the silken cloth further up. "Well. Do you want to know something?"

"What?" She replied a little breathlessly, with a challenging little grin.

Instead of going for her mouth like she expected him to, Slaine dived for her now exposed stomach, making her yelp in surprise. Yelps turned into high-pitched gasps and giggling as he kissed and blew on her belly, his hands on her hips holding down her squirming as she laughed.

"Slaine!" She shrieked, hands clenched around his shoulder as he repeated his torturous kisses. "It tickles!"

He laughed with her and refused her unsaid pleas of surrender, kissing and blowing on her abused stomach a few more times before he hovered by her face, this time to steal the kiss he didn't take moments before while her mouth quivered mid-giggle. Asseylum shook with her mirth for a few seconds, and Slaine was chuckling against her mouth. Then arms went around him, and she was pressing back as eagerly as he deepened the kiss.

High and breathless from his tickling, it took no longer than three seconds before she pulled back, lovely and blush-faced. And here? Here, in this moment, she was _radiant_.

Slaine supposed his answer was due, "I love you."


	23. eidolon, "last kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last two chapters oh my god i cannot writing kissing surease is everything fak :(  
> //cri

> [your phantom made hold on for my dear life](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

When he lied to Lemrina about her sister's state of _deterioration_ instead of the other way around, he had not expected for the fib to actually play out before his eyes. For in the end, the lie did not have to stay a lie for it quickly transcended to a truth.

The princess was dying.

Slaine merely watched on, then, as Eddelrittuo and the other servants frantically tried to keep her dropping vital signs stable, as her pale skin turned a whiter shade of pale, as he felt the quivers from Lemrina's nearness as she clutched his hand in a vice grip.

Such a cold hand. Her sister had warm hands. Hands that are probably colder than hers right now. All motion seemed to cease when the princess flat lined, sunshine hair too bland and skin too white and too gone. It happens, and Slaine imagines as if that the prolonged beep is music to his ears that he imagined dancing with the princess to.

"Slaine…" he turns to Lemrina, at the piteous roundness for her stare marred with tears. "I…"

He wordlessly, and gently, pries his hand out of hers and for once she lets him go without complaint, as he stands by his princess' bedside, royalty in death's domain. Slaine feels all eyes watch him as he kneels like he did before, hand cradling limp ones so he could, for the last time, swear loyalty and farewell to his princess with a kiss on ashen knuckles.

When he stands, he sweeps his eyes all around the room, at Lemrina and Eddelrittuo and Harklight—Harklight. He talked to Harklight about this, and by the nod of his head, he remembers and knows that this burial shall be made.

"Princess Lemrina," he approaches. She is tear-streaked cheeks and shaken. "It's time."

For the months that later on follow, he marries Asseylum's face and is crowned Emperor of Vers, Terra subjugated and rebels culled, allies sealed and power amassed, the Martian kingdom on the razed Earth is home to a princess who hid behind her sister's face and name for all of eternity and her husband with the fair hair and the red coat. Asseylum steps on his toes and hangs and grips onto him like a lifeline in her weak legs as they dance to the song his princess will never dance to.


	24. Eurydice, "returned from the dead kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically something I fantasized about if Asseylum woke up earlier; as in like, after Slaine is just knighted. ~~nothing of great significance but a mere fangirl's musings mehehe~~

>  [she whose justice extends widely](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

Somehow he believes it is merely happenstance that just after twin beads of tears rolled off his cheeks with his fists pressed up against the tank, the moment he looks up to say yet another babbled apology and her eyes just happened to stare right at him, everything ceased to make sense and all he could think of is that moment is that _she's awake_. She's _awake!_

He stood frozen for so long until her disoriented eyes started to flutter manically, bubbles forming rapidly around her mask and he realized a second later what was happening and it's like he'd been dunked into a freezing water when he first started serving Cruhteo as he panicked, disabling everything and draining the tank and rushing and praying he wasn't too slow that she drowned in her own healing chamber.

Liquid pours out of her mask and her mouth as she hacks and wobbles when the liquid no longer kept her steady, and with no regards of anything else, Slaine rushes in and forces the tank apart—catches her and the liquid he's soaked with reeked of antiseptic and she's _deathly_ cold. But she's still coughing out and this scene very much reminds him something at the back of his head, but it's all a mere second thought; he places his mouth over hers to suck out the probability of death that clung to her, over and over, and rubs her cheeks just to see her pale skin turn a healthy ivory yet again.

For all his intentions, he's saved her this time, he's sure. That's why he doesn't think of it as anything as he breathes life into her mouth until she's looking up at him in a semblance of recognition and something undoubtedly as _her_.

He's just turned 17, the gray uniform is staunch and new. It's at 17 that he finds courage to hold her in his arms, at least even just for that moment and even if she's too deep in another slumber, whispering  _Welcome home, my Princess._


	25. Star-crossed Lovers, "we can never be together kiss"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slaine's pov for chapter 10, swan song.  
>  ~~i find it funny how i started this meme quite fluffy and im ending it with angst oh damn also has anyone noticed i keep making spin-offs for chapter 10 hahaha killme~~  
>  well, at last! the final installment of A Kiss is Just a Kiss!

> [frustrated by the stars](http://khirsahle.tumblr.com/post/110478709305/and-done-sorry-i-cant-take-any-more-more)

 

She tells him she loves him when the empire is starting to crumble and her title as _princess_ will become  _empress_ in a few days. She tells him she loves him as soldiers toll on and the red planet is stained further red. She tells him that she loves him when there is a war that must be fought.

 _I love you, Slaine_ , she said. Raw and true that it hurt to think he can't give back.

So he tries to make amends by holding her, at least. He embraces her tightly, and quickly, careful not to touch any more skin for fear of being unable to let go. If he never let go, he would never be able to keep his side of the line, and he would never be able to forgive himself even if she did. So in those ten or so seconds, he breathes in the scent of her hair and counts every second of it. It's the first time he's held her like this. And it's not enough. He releases her but she pinches the sleeve of his new uniform, pleads _don't go_. He can't obey. She understands. He knows she does. He thinks he knows she does. It's precisely why he doesn't say anything to that, unable to trust himself with her because he leaves for war; it's better to leave her with a broken heart than leave her with a hopeful heart.

He wants to hate himself. He's not supposed to hurt his princess in any way; a violation of his oath. He's a disgrace. He's not worthy of her; will never be worthy of her, even if she's given her heart to him. He's not supposed to touch his princess; a violation of his oath. He's touching her right now, feeling the locks of her hair in his fingers and lifting them to his lips. He belongs to Vers now, a knight who shall lose his honor at the void made of bullets and steel. He would die for her country, not for her.

 _I'm sorry_ , goes unsaid. She understands. He knows she does. He thinks he knows she does when she says he should go. So he goes, with strength and without falter, not looking back.

He didn't promise her he'd come back.

It'd be a lie, and he's not supposed to lie to his princess.


End file.
